


Silent Words

by Minka



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minka/pseuds/Minka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon talks; Robb hears nothing.</p>
<p>Based on an anonymous prompt: <i>‘Jon/Robb, Jon has such pretty lips’</i> and copied over from my Livejournal account.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Words

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my usual writing style, and I think it really does show. However, I like the feel of the fic and was happy with the ending, so I am posting it anyway.

_Jon talks; Robb hears nothing._

It is not that he is talking shit, or even babbling, Robb admits, but it is just that he can’t seem to focus. That’s harder for Robb to come to terms with. He prides himself on his ability to listen. Those who listen, who are silent, his father always says, are those who are wise. 

But right now, wisdom doesn’t matter and Robb feels the fool because of it. 

 

_Jon talks; Robb gets lost._

He can’t follow the conversation which is a worry. It’s not like Jon speaks all that much anyway. He is the silent, brooding type; Robb knows this and understands it well, but now, when Jon talks, Robb can’t keep up. Something about a horse and a new sword. A question about the hunting trip planned for the following day. 

Robb just smiles. It is all he can do. What had Jon asked again? Robb says something, his mind not processing the words, and he pats Jon on the shoulder brotherly. Robb is stalling, looking for an excuse to get away to hide his distraction. 

Jon picks up on it, his face droops. He looks hurt and Robb feels like an ass as he walks out to the training yard. 

 

_Jon talks; Robb stares._

The distance is too far away and Jon is too close. So Robb stares at nothing. A point just behind Jon’s right ear that is closer than the wall. It is a good spot. Interesting. Something for his mind to focus on. He likes the nothingness of it all; the sense of space being surrounded by the here and now. 

It’s distracting. 

Robb contemplates the space as Jon talks, mentioning the chill in the air and asks something about winter. Robb decides it is safe to answer, to say the Stark words of “Winter is coming,” and hopes that it hides his wavering attention. 

Jon’s eyebrow arches up, his head tilts to the side and his teeth flash out to claim his bottom lip thoughtfully. Robb’s heart skips a beat and he gives himself away. A quick look, a dart of the eyes and Robb feels like he is staring. 

Jon thinks he isn’t listening, Robb can see it in his eyes, and he hates that it’s true. He can’t listen, can’t bring himself to pay attention to the words that come out of Jon’s mouth. 

_Mouth._ Robb shudders slightly and looks back at that spot of nothing more intently. Jon sighs and says something, Theon’s name passing his lips in a way that Robb decides his hates. It makes Robb want to hit that ass Greyjoy, to feel his fist crush the other man’s face. To punish him for stealing Jon’s attention. 

It is Robb’s turn now; he bites at his bottom lip and furrows his eyebrows together, shame welling up at the thoughts in his own mind. It’s not right, none of this is right and he knows it. 

Jon gives up and leaves and Robb tries not to watch him go. 

 

_Jon talks; Robb knows he is starting to become obvious._

Jon knows something is wrong, Robb can tell. It’s in the way Jon looks at him, all lowered head and dark eyes questioning. He is searching for something, for answers that Robb hasn’t quite figured out yet himself and Robb has the clarity of mind to worry. 

Has he been obvious? Robb knows the answer to that all too well and he feels a blush creep across his cheeks. 

Jon sees this and his eyebrows furrow. He asks if Robb is alright, if there is something he needs to say and Robb shakes his head. He says something about Bran, the words tripping over themselves, and tries to express worry for his younger brother and his sword training. 

Jon looks at him in that way that says he doesn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth and Robb knows he is sprung. 

It ends quickly, Jon shaking his head and sighing out loud. One last look burns against Robb’s skin and then Jon walks out the door. It is the second time in as many days and Robb, defeated, hangs his head and tries not to think. 

 

_Jon talks; Robb stops him._

Robb doesn’t understand how he let himself get so careless. He is listening, or trying to listen, and Jon is talking guardedly about something Robb will never hear. That is how Jon talks to him now, all short sentences and clipped words; guard up and head down. Robb hates it, despises it and each time it happens, he finds himself out in the yard afterwards, sword in hand and woodchips flying from the training post. 

Part of Robb is amazed that Jon still talks to him at all. That he still tries for conversation despite meeting deaf ears and silence every time. His words are getting less and less though, Robb is sure of this, and days pass where Robb doesn’t see Jon at all. Jon spends his time with Arya, with Bran and even Theon and on those days Robb has to replace the practice posts once he is done. 

But now Jon is there, the first time in days, and he is speaking a foreign language as far as Robb is concerned. But Robb has missed him, he can admit that much to himself at least, and so he tries to listen. He fails, Jon sees it – like always – and it leaves them back where they started. 

A sigh fills the silent room and Robb isn’t too sure who it came from. He sees Jon shaking his head and rubbing at the back of his neck and he sees the hurt reflected in the other man’s eyes. It is then that Jon gives up completely and Robb knows that he is about to lose. 

As Jon makes his usual excuses, Robb snaps. As Jon looks at him once more, as he always does before leaving, Robb finally moves. His hand is there on its own accord and fingertips brush against Jon’s lips. 

Jon stops talking and Robb doesn’t notice. 

It’s a quick touch, a light touch like snowflakes in the summer breeze. But it is enough. Robb is sure his fingers are burning. The heat spreads it way up through his arm, making his heart beat faster and faster and somehow he is aware that his face is flushed. Robb’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes flick to Jon’s face. 

Jon is staring and Robb suddenly knows how he has made Jon feel all this time. 

Awkward, Robb frowns and mutters something incoherent. He makes to leave, his eyes on the door as his feet find the strength that his mind can’t. But Jon stops him with a hand on his arm, an imploring look and a demand for Robb to explain. 

Robb is good at denying himself, he is good at mentally chastising himself for his thoughts, but he can’t deny Jon anything and they both know it. 

 

_Robb talks; Jon listens._

Robb is babbling. He knows this. Words are failing him, coming out in jumbled tangles of idioms and nonsense. He is talking about Jon, about him and their father. About right and wrong and all those grey areas in between. Undefinable places and feelings; things that he can’t understand himself. 

He is talking about them and Jon just listens. No. Not just listens, he nods. He occasionally blushes – like when Robb confesses that he hasn’t heard a word Jon has said in weeks because of the way Jon’s damn lips move – and he occasionally looks away when Robb stares too much. 

Robb tries not to stare, but he hasn’t been good at keeping his eyes off Jon for awhile now. 

Robb is getting the feeling that Jon is uncomfortable. He is going to run, Robb knows this, and it hurts. More than he thought he could ever be hurt. Deeper and more painful than any sword strike ever could be. Robb is pretty sure that Jon thinks he is perverted. Some twisted freak with disgusting thoughts and that somehow gives Robb the feeling that he’ll have to put up with Jon and Theon becoming closer. 

He can’t say that, though, and he sure as hell couldn’t put those thoughts into words even if he tried. There are few things in life that Robb is thankful for at the moment, but that is certainly one of them. 

Robb knows that all is lost; his hopes and dreams, his relationship with the man he calls brother but wishes wasn’t. Crushed. That is how Robb feels, his eyes flicking to the floor. Jon’s pretty lips flash in his minds eye, offering no respite to the worsening situation. 

Robb wants to run but his feet betray him. 

 

_Robb sighs; Jon steals it._

Robb doesn’t know how it happens and he doesn’t care. He stops talking, looks away and sighs and then his world falls down around his feet. In the most amazing way possible. 

Jon’s lips are on his, his fingers barely touching Robb’s face to guide it upwards. _Those_ lips; Robb’s distraction. And they are soft as he has imagined. Timid even, shy and tender and not too sure of what they are doing; awkward. Robb smiles into the chaste kiss, thinking that it is so typically Jon, in every way possible, and that is what makes it so special. 

It is over too quickly. Jon pulls back, his eyes downcast and his cheeks flushed. Robb can’t move, can’t speak, and can’t think. Not until Jon mutters something, those lips moving in ways that Robb always dreams about, and Robb is sure he is making excuses. A reason to leave; to run and hide because Robb didn’t respond how he should have. 

Jon pulls back and Robb lets him. He hates himself for it. 

 

_Jon moves; Robb is quicker._

They are stumbling backwards; well, Jon is. Robb is pushing forward. Not threatening but desperate and needy. Jon doesn’t seem to mind, not even when his back hits the wall and Robb is right there, pressing him into the masonry like his life depends on it. 

Jon was chaste and tentative, all confusion and uncertainty while Robb is anything but. Mouths crash together, teeth finding tongues and lips until all traces of awkwardness are gone. 

Robb takes charge – it is what he is good at – and cups Jon’s cheek, holding him still. Right there, like that, so Robb can see his face and that pink flush that colours his pale skin. 

Hands roam and Robb can’t tell if they are his or Jon’s. All he knows is that he needs – wants – more. He pushes Jon back, harder this time, and presses in against him, one hand on Jon’s hip. Possessive. That is how Robb feels and that is something else he knows he needs to come to terms with. No divided attention, no Theon; just him and Jon and nothing else at all. 

When Jon doesn’t complain, his hands finding Robb’s arms and gripping tightly, Robb takes that as encouragement and silent accord to his own thoughts. 

Robb’s teeth scrape against Jon’s throat and even Robb isn’t so sure when his mouth found that spot. He likes it though, and Jon shudders against him, his whole body feeling close to melting. A throaty groan passes Jon’s lips and Robb sinks his teeth in, desperate to hear that sound again. Jon doesn’t disappoint and Robb growls in reply. 

Jon is like fire, Robb decides, all consuming and dangerous. He burns so hot that Robb is scared Jon will set him alight if he moves closer. Yet Robb happily risks combustion and steps in, one leg pushing in between Jon’s as his hands move to grasp either side of Jon’s face. Maybe, Robb thinks, he will burn alive at the touch, but he knows there are far worse ways for life to end. 

Robb’s thumb traces Jon’s bottom lip and when Jon’s tongue slips out to lave the digit before sucking it in for a kiss, Robb is entranced. He stares, open mouthed and Jon just smiles. It is something dark and wild, something that Robb never sees in Jon’s eyes and it sends a thrill of excitement down his spine. Jon doesn’t look hurt or disgusted, as Robb had feared. He looks needy and wanton, desperate for attention and somewhere, in the midst of all that, Robb thinks Jon looks relieved and Robb moves in again, finding rapture in the source of his past distractions. 

Hands nestled into the back of Jon’s hair, Robb pulls back and searches those mysterious features more intently. Just looks. Swollen lips, red and wet and eyes half lidded with lust. Robb knows it is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen; ever will see. Jon is panting slightly, his mouth open in that way he does when he is thinking and Robb can’t help but lick his lips at the appealing sight. He strokes his fingers in that hair, so thick and dark and curly and softer than Robb ever could have imagined. 

Robb can’t help himself, he really can’t, and he leans in again, stealing a peck of a kiss. He knows now, decides right then and there, that he loves the way Jon’s breath hitches in his throat at the action. Loves the way his eyes flutter half closed and how his hands tighten their hold on Robb’s arms. Loves the fact that it is his actions causing Jon’s normally stoic exterior to crumble so obviously. 

It is perfect and Robb wants to tell him that. 

But Jon speaks; Robb listens. 

_Jon says his name and Robb hears it._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are like cookies, they go great with coffee. 
> 
> As said, this was hard for me to write; I have been chipping away at it for over a week now, which is rather odd for me. I never write in present tense and never try and do things so… sparse, I guess. Thoughts and criticisms are more than welcome


End file.
